Tribute
by Wahoogal06
Summary: This story follows the events of "Exigency" as well as chapter 37 of "Rising Son" and potentially chapter 35 of "Being Se'tak". I am leaving it open-ended because I'm not sure how other story lines are going to unfold in the future. Rated T because "Tribute" deals with death.


**Mister Chekov**

 _ **150 Greenleaf Street, San Francisco,**_ **1849 hours.** The comm. began ringing as soon as they entered the house. He and Nyota shared a look; it had been a long and tiring day at Headquarters and they were each exhausted. Spock decided to answer the summons so his k'diwa could go upstairs and change out of her uniform. He emerged from the office 10.67 minutes later to find her coming back down the stairs clad in her pajamas.

"Who was it?"

"That was Mister Daly," Spock replied.

Nyota paused on the steps and frowned. "Are he and Max ok? Do they need anything?"

He shook his head no. "He requested that I speak at Mister Chekov's funeral." He clenched his wrist tightly behind his back. "Nyota, I—I do not believe that I am equal to the task."

"Oh Spock…" She descended the rest of the stairs and rushed to embrace him.

* * *

 _ **Grand Hotel du Palais Royal, Paris, France,**_ **2290.17, 1022 hours.** Nyota adjusted the lapel of his dress uniform and brushed a miniscule speck of lint off his shoulder. "There," she said with a small degree of satisfaction, "You're all set."

Spock nodded then re-examined his image in the mirror. His visage and style of dress was indeed acceptable. In the adjoining room he listened as Selas went about the same preparations. As he examined himself he also mentally reviewed his upcoming speech. Privately Spock feared that his remarks were deficient and not befitting a man of Mister Chekov's stature.

The collar of his dress uniform suddenly became restrictive in a way that he had not found it to be in the last 32.16 years. Nyota stilled his hands as they tugged at the fabric in an attempt to free his larynx. "You're going to be fine."

"Fine has variable definitions, fine is…"

"In this instance," she interrupted him, "Fine is great." Nyota held his hands tightly in hers, transmitting her abiding love across the heightened bond. You're going to do great, Spock."

He did not immediately respond as his thoughts once again reverted to his inadequate speech. He did not have it in him to inform his k'diwa that she was incorrect.

* * *

 _ **P**_ _ **è**_ _ **re-Lachaise Cemetery, Paris, France,**_ **2290.17, 1105 hours.** After verifying Se'tak's identity with the guards Spock walked back up the hill with his sa-fu beside him. He had grown since they were last in each other's presence and he believed Se'tak had now reached his full adult height at 1.93 meters. His crisp dark suit served to elongate him further and it was difficult to reconcile the image of the put-together young man beside him with the disheveled child he had once been.

No doubt he would always find that distinction difficult to make. It was a privilege to raise his children and watch them grow into mature and responsible adults; a privilege, he darkly realized, that was denied to Mister Chekov.

Spock quickly rejoined the group of mourners and took his place alongside his adun'a. Nyota sensed his trepidation and reassured him once more across the bond.

"…and now Commander Spock would like to say a few words." Spock locked eyes with the priest who gave him a nod as he stepped away from the casket. He hesitated a second longer then stepped forward. All eyes focused on him.

"Pavel Andreievich Chekov was a son," this statement brought a fresh round of wails from the elderly Mrs. Chekov, "A brother, a husband, a father, and an uncle. He was a navigator and an engineer with unparalleled mathematical abilities. He was also-" his voice faltered and he paused, glancing down at the casket briefly before regaining his equilibrium. "My friend."

This statement produced more sniffles from the mourners and he could see Nyota's eyes pooling with unshed tears.

"I was privileged to know Mister Chekov for 31 years, 10 months, and 10 days. During that time we collaborated on 7,632 assignments, worked side-by-side for 22,018 hours, and shared 14,801 meals. However, these are not the most relevant figures with regards to his life.

"Stardate 2258.43; the date in which Mister Chekov wholeheartedly offered me his friendship. 11; the number of private conversations in which his sound advice altered the course of my life for the better. 3; the number of blessings he bestowed on each of my children." Nyota cried out at that and stifled her sob with her hand. The image of a young Pavel Chekov cradling her pregnant stomach with his hands and offering up words of protection and love to their unborn child transferred across the bond. It was an especially cherished memory.

"2; the number of times he saved my life." Spock reached out as if to touch the casket then retracted his hand. "Stardate 2289.354. The date in which I was incapable of returning the favor." His audience stood in hushed reverence as his immense regret and enveloping grief finally found release in the single tear that slid down his cheek.

"A sentient being's optimal chance at maximizing their utility is a long and prosperous life," he continued. "Mister Chekov's life was cut short and yet he maximized every moment of those 48 years, 5 months, and 11 days. His compassion, his intellect and, most importantly, his friendship, will be greatly missed."

This time he did not stop himself from bending over and touching the head of the casket with his own forehead. It was a sign of the esteem in which he had held Mister Chekov that he behaved so— _emotionally_ —in public; and yet he would not allow himself to send his friend into the great beyond without fully expressing his complete respect in such a tender manner.

 _"Wery good, Meester Spock,"_ he could almost hear the voice of his friend say. _"Wery good."_


End file.
